Seeing myself as a beautiful womyn with dark fuzz noticeable from the knees down has opened my eyes to a different genre of feminine beauty. The hair that grows on me is thick and dark and quite contrasting to my pale skin. Wanting to pack a long skirt in case I felt too ashamed to have my legs out. It never looked my legs were really shave as fresh thick prickles of new hair would poke through my skin the second a chill in the room gave me goosebumps, even if it was while I was cleaning up from shaving. Hairy legs meant no shorts in the summer. I started plucking in fifth grade.
It took me hours to do every single time. But no one treated me any differently, or made me feel uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable and nervous for a while, but I did it anyway. Once I had, I was free to start openly engaging in the body positive movement. I knew I wanted nothing less than for someone to see me. In fact I have had numerous compliments about my hairy legs, and I too think they look sexy in a way that is unique to smooth legs. A hairy tummy meant no crop tops or bikinis. I do believe I will wax my legs again in the future sometime, because I have that choice if I desire it, but for now I might let these ladies see a bit more of the sunshine. I did notice people staring at my legs momentarily before looking up at my face, and I did have paranoid thoughts of them talking about me when I was out of earshot. Growing up, I was teased for my unibrow, chin hairs, and my moustache in school. Despite the fact that they have completely different bodies than you and it takes personal trainers and dieticians and hours of preparation and makeup and grooming and perfectly fitted clothing and photo distortion to make them look like flawless godesses, you somehow think that the ugliness you see in yourself is YOUR shortcoming. I shaved a lot growing up and through highschool. I would always get ingrown hairs, rashes, razor bumps, pimples and whatever other terrible thing a razor can give you. By this point I had grown my leg hairs out to their full glory and thought it would be a perfect opportunity to do an experiment in radical self love and see what it would be like to get around with my hairy ass legs on display in hot pants and short skirts for five days in the tropics. My hiding and self loathing grew throughout highschool, dying down in college as I started to become exhausted with the amount of time I had to dedicate to shaving without any sort of tangible payoff. If nobody is going to call hairy girls beautiful, then I will. I was as covered as a person could be that day in the summer, without getting heat stroke. I let my leg hair grow in the wintertime, cause seriously as if I could be bothered, and I have been able to produce a generous covering of thick dark and soft hair from toes to upper thigh. I do like the look and feel of my smooth hairless legs, shining bronze in the summer time. Over the years I have come to accept and love my hairy armpits and monobrow, but feeling the freedom to let my leg hairs be seen wild and bushy is not quite something I have overcome socially, yet. September 20, My name is Andrea. This year I treated myself to a holiday in Far North Queensland to celebrate my birthday and the end of winter. Before I went away I felt some very real anxiety. I was growing more and more into a feminist but still had some setbacks, as the biggest part of my journey was finally having the strength to walk away from religion. I grew more and more certain that my body was ugly until one day I finally snapped. Photo by Simon Russell. I never had much issue with this as a child, but when my mother sat me on the veranda aged twelve and waxed my legs for the first time I learnt to believe hairy legs were something to be ashamed of.
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GROWING UP AS A HAIRY GIRL
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